“The one that had been staged, leaning up against a tree to look like a mangled motorcycle,” Edward said.
“Did it?”
Edward shrugged. “It did to me at the time. I didn’t even realize it was a truck bumper until after the fact.”
“It was a truck bumper, from a 1965 Ford F-100 pickup truck,” Mel said. “You knew that.”
“Adam told us,” Warren said.
“What you don’t know,” Connor said, “is that the bumper had been practically folded in half, and then had some shiny black paint on a part of it—vehicle paint—which added to the illusion.”
Edward ran a hand through his hair. “It didn’t fool Grant, even as we pulled up. He was certain it wasn’t a motorcycle.”
“He probably has never seen a mangled one,” Mel said.
“Or had the experience you did years ago.”
When Edward jerked his head around to look at Connor, that man shrugged. “Adam told us about it. That is also one of the reasons we thought you’d been target specific.”
“How so?” Carol really wasn’t having much trouble following the conversation until now.
“Whoever set that scene knew about the accident the guys attended to six years ago,” Connor said.
“And that was the shooter’s biggest mistake. Tying this attempt to that incident. It told us that Ed had been a specific target, and made us keep looking.” Mel nodded to Connor who gave Ed what looked like an artist’s sketch.
“This is what we got from the man at the wrecking yard, whose name was Jonas Wiley. That bumper was purchased for cash, and the man who paid for it asked Wiley if he could bend it in half. Told him he was an artist and wanted it as a part of a sculpture.”
“Sounds kind of lame to me,” Warren said.
“You’ve obviously never toured The Modern in Fort Worth,” Emily Anne said, naming a gallery well known throughout the state.
Warren laughed. “Guilty.”
“Anyway, there were no prints on the bumper, and no DNA. We ran that sketch through a program I have and didn’t get any hits—which means, whether that is our shooter or just some stooge hired to procure the prop, the man in this sketch has never been arrested.”
“He doesn’t look familiar,” Edward said. He handed the sketch to Warren.
Carol could tell he didn’t recognize the man, either.
“He looks old,” Warren said. “And there’s something about the way his eyes have been drawn, as if he’s been through hell.”
“Yes,” Mel said. “The possibility that this man was hired by our shooter and paid cash is pretty high up on our list of probabilities. He doesn’t look strong or mean—just beat up and worn down. The way that someone, say, who was homeless might look.”
“We’ve been doing some digging, thinking that whoever is behind the incident has a grudge against you. We don’t think this is a financial shakedown—it doesn’t have any earmarks of that being the case.”
“Why would you have thought of a financial shakedown to begin with?”
Mel looked from Carol to Warren and then Edward. He raised one eyebrow, and Carol got the impression that he was waiting for one, or both, of her men to say something.
“We’re Jessops,” Warren said, “and part of a very large and very wealthy family. Financial gain is always the first suspected motive when something happens that threatens one of us.”
Carol felt her face color. “I totally forgot about that—y’all being rich.”
“So do we, most of the time,” Edward said. “We were raised to make our own way, and it’s generally expected that we do just that. Warren and I fell in love with the idea of being paramedics when we were still kids.”
“Since there’s been no word from anyone, we ruled that out fairly early,” Mel said. “But recreating an incident from your past that is bound to have you shaken up from the get-go—that points to someone who knows a bit about psychology, someone who would understand the stress of a rescue gone bad, and that a reminder of it could knock you off-balance, catch you off guard, and probably keep you off guard.”
“It’s also suggestive of someone who holds a grudge,” Mel said.
“Adam asked me about that but I couldn’t think of anyone who would.”
“Sometimes people who hold grudges don’t act on their resentment right away. Sometimes, they let those emotions build over time until something happens, and they have to act.” Connor sat back.
“You have a suspect, don’t you?” Carol thought the investigators were trying to be subtle in an effort to jog Edward’s memory.
“We do,” Mel said. “Does the name Porter Taylor mean anything to you?”
Edward’s brow wrinkled in confusion. And then his eyes widened, Warren swore in disgust, and Carol guessed the answer to Mel’s question was yes.
Chapter 18
“That little bastard. If he’s the one taking shots at you I’m going to…” Warren tapered off his rant, ran his hand through his long hair, and hissed out a breath.
“So, I’ll take it that’s a yes,” Connor said.
“Porter Taylor was enrolled in the same program we were at Austin Community College. We’d heard rumors about his cheating on tests, and we’d witnessed his lackadaisical attitude in general. He was one of those guys who had an excuse for every occasion and never took responsibility for a damned thing in his life.”
“He made a mistake during our hospital rotation that could have resulted in serious harm to a patient. Ed witnessed his mistake and reported him—after Taylor tried bribing and threats to try to prevent that.” Warren could still recall the pure rage he’d felt at the time. Well, rage and a desire to punch him in the mouth.
Becoming a paramedic meant taking on a sacred trust. Anyone who abrogated their responsibility deserved to be kicked six ways from Sunday.
“As it turned out one of the doctors had caught the error at the same time I did. So we both reported him, so there was no question as to the truth of what happened.”
“Taylor got kicked out of the program?” Mel asked.
“Yeah, and I have no idea what became of him after that. You suspect him?” Warren asked.
“Well, let’s just say he’s a person of interest,” Connor said. “He certainly let it be known that he blamed Ed for his being washed out of school. Claimed you were nothing but a rich kid playing at being a paramedic, and then later, that it was you who’d made the near fatal error, and that he wouldn’t be surprised if you wound up killing someone eventually.”
“Who the fuck would listen to crap like that?” Warren couldn’t remember the last time he was so angry. Too pissed off to sit, he surged to his feet. “What gives slimeballs like Taylor the right to slander my brother’s character?”
“Oh, I can assure you he has no right to do that whatsoever,” Mel said. “As soon as we finish our investigation, we plan on turning everything we have on him over to Jake. I can practically see your cousin now, rubbing his hands together in glee at the prospect of suing that little pissant.”
“If he isn’t behind the shooting, and the stalking, then his ass is going to be fried anyway.” Connor sat forward. “And unfortunately there’s never a shortage of people willing to listen to trash about someone—especially if the person who’s being trashed is rich or considered special.”
Warren leaned against the kitchen counter, hands in his pockets, and worked at cooling down. He knew what Connor had just said was the truth. It just always galled him when he heard of someone in the family being bad-mouthed. This was the first time, though, the person being trash talked about was his brother.
He nearly grinned. That was because except for the two leather-wearing, single-tail six-foot-whip-bearing cousins of his, Jessops tended toward being extremely mild mannered.
They usually left the flamboyance to the Kendalls and Benedicts among them.
“Calm down, bro.” Ed shot him a grin. “I can think of no better fate for that pissant than having to f
ace Jake in full lawyer mode.”
“Yeah, that’s something, isn’t it? Okay, I’m calming down.”
“So that was the good news we were coming over to tell you about before you told us about being followed today.”
“The bad news is that Taylor doesn’t have a white Chevy. Right?”
Warren thought his brother was acting awfully calm under the circumstances.
“Not that we’ve discovered so far. He may have access to one, though, so don’t give up hope.” Mel pushed his plate away, rubbed his belly and grinned at Carol. “That was good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Carol said.
Warren had already noticed that she preened under their compliments for her cooking. He didn’t suppose there was anything wrong with finding some of the qualities he admired in his own mother, shared by the woman he loved.
Emily Anne got up to help Carol clear the table, the two women shooing them out and into the living room as they chatted and worked together.
The men had brought their coffee cups with them, and sat down in the large, comfortable room. Warren chose to sit on the ottoman. He’d positioned it so he could look into the kitchen every now and then and watch Carol. She was grace in motion and he didn’t think he’d ever get tired looking at her.
He caught Ed’s eye and his brother grinned.
“So, how are the plans coming for the new house?” Warren asked.
“Jordan’s going to break ground in another week. He thinks that with a big enough crew they can get it up in a month. We’re hoping to get married in late November,” Mel said.
“I imagine it’ll be a change for you,” Ed said to Mel, “city boy that you are.”
“I can adjust. I like living in Lusty, and this is the smallest town I’ve ever been in. And none of it matters, anyway. We’ll be together, with Emily Anne, and that’s all that really counts.”
Connor crossed his right leg over his left. “We’ve made finding and apprehending the person who shot at you top priority. We’ll question Taylor and his friends and family soon. We’d try to check out white Chevys but without a definite year or a partial plate, the number would be too many to even consider.”
“I figured,” Warren said. “There was no way at the time I could have gotten that information. We had to get our patient to the hospital.”
“Understandable. For the immediate future, I’d keep my eyes opened,” Mel said. “You have to know if this person drives into town, he’ll be stopped.”
“Yeah, I figure by now most of Lusty knows to keep their eyes opened for a white Chevy,” Warren said.
“Adam would have gotten the word out,” Ed agreed.
The women came into the living room. “I was just telling Emily Anne about my gardens back at my house. I thought I’d show them to her tomorrow, since she’s off early and so am I.”
“It’ll give me a good idea what I can plant once the house we’re having built is up. Nothing marks a woman’s home as her own the way flowers and plants do,” Emily Anne said.
“Our mom’s a good gardener, too,” Warren said. “I’m sure she’d be happy to give you whatever advice you might need. She has Lusty plotted on the hardiness and heat zone maps form the USDA, but I have no idea what that means.” He shrugged. “Flowers are pretty but take work and water and that is all I know.”
“That’s all right,” Carol said. She bent over him and kissed his cheek. “I don’t know a thing about first aid or tourniquets.”
* * * *
“That’s a hard one,” Emily Anne said.
Carol had just told her friend about the rift between herself and her family.
“I don’t know as I’d be as fast to forgive, either.” She stopped and used her wrist to wipe the perspiration from her brow.
“I’m trying to see things from my momma’s perspective.” Carol also sat back. “Come on, let’s get out of this heat. I’ve sweet tea in the fridge.”
“Sounds good.”
Carol had always considered it a blessing that the extreme heat of the Texas summer didn’t bother her overmuch. She could garden or work outside for a time, as long as she had blessed AC to get back into.
They set their hats and gloves on the counter, and washed their hands sided by side in the double sink.
“You be sure and let me know when I can return the favor,” she said. “I appreciate the help. The weeding had gotten away from me.”
Emily Anne grinned. “I know how it is when two men love on you.” She sighed. “I’ve never been so happy in my whole life as I am right now.”
“And your mom? Has she come around any?” Carol pulled out the pitcher of tea and Emily Anne got down two tall glasses. She put ice in each from the fridge dispenser, and brought them to the table.
“Well, she has called me a couple of times. The men sent her flowers for her birthday, and she is partial to fancy, expensive roses.” She giggled. “Of course, being the well-bred Southern woman she is, Momma had to call and say thank you to both Mel and Connor. If you gave me a sandwich with as much honey on it as they spread in that five minute conversation, I swear I’d go into a sugar-overdosed coma.”
“I suppose it’s good that they’re trying. You’re planning to have a family, and I think…I think it’s important for children to have a good, close relationship with their grandparents.”
“Yes, it is.”
There was the value in a good friend, right there. Carol realized the words she’d just spoken could just as easily apply to her as to her friend. She also knew both Warren and Edward wanted her to reach out to her parents, but they loved her enough to let her have her way, and take her time.
Emily Anne likely would be in total agreement with them, but like a good friend, wasn’t going to nag at her about it.
Carol thought of that very short letter her mother had sent that she’d finally read late that same night she’d received it. In it, she’d apologized to her for having believed her fears, for having been so overcome with that fear that she hadn’t seen Carol for the woman she really was. She’d asked for another chance.
Emily Anne laid her hand on top of Carol’s. “My mother and I have more often than not been at odds, mostly because of the way she saw me, too—she considered me fat and unattractive, and doubted I would make a good marriage, something that was always important to her upbringing. So in a way, we’re in the same boat. But I think while I understand your mother acted out of fear, I do think what she did—or maybe, didn’t do—is a lot more serious than my situation. You need to give yourself a break. Really, your subconscious has only recently been ready to consider things. You’ll do what you need to when you need to do it.”
“I hope so. I don’t like feeling this way—as if I’m a hard and unforgiving woman. But at the same time, I’m not quite there yet.”
“Families are interesting,” Emily Anne said. “I guess that’s what I found so different here in Lusty. Not that they don’t have their tussles from time to time—I’ve seen ’em. But they do tend to forgive a lot faster than most I’ve ever known.”
“That’s what I noticed, too,” Carol said.
They set their glasses in the sink, took up their gardening gear, and headed out. Carol returned to her mutabilis, commonly known as butterfly roses. They’d been here when she moved in, and she’d taken special care not only of their weeding, but in pruning them, too. They were such pretty flowers. She thought, if things progressed between her and those two Jessops, she might be putting her hands into their gardens come the spring.
She knew they wanted her to move in with them, but she’d been holding off. She wanted to feel more settled in herself before she took that big a step.
“I know these are so common, but I’ve always liked them,” Emily Anne said. She was working around the red Salvia coccinea—the Texas sage—working up the soil around the bushes.
“Me, too. And the crape myrtle. I love to have a lot of different plants, and I don’t much care if I ha
ve to be tending them for a bit each day.”
“I hope you ladies have been taking breaks from the heat and staying hydrated,” Warren said.
Carol grinned. She looked over her shoulder and watched as Warren and Edward came toward them.
“Are you off work early?” Of course Carol didn’t mind. She was always happy to see them—not to mention the fact that they looked really good in their blue uniforms.
“No, we’re on the way back from a call. There was a single-car accident out on the highway—but the driver and passenger didn’t need transporting, thank God,” Warren said.
“They were mostly shaken up—a young couple, their car got a flat and then ended up in the ditch.” Edward grinned. Then he made a play of leaning back to get a good look at her backside. “We decided to stop in and see how you’re doing, just before heading back to the station. Thank you for the lovely view. We’ll likely be done in hour or so. Are you planning to stay here this evening, or can we cook dinner for you tonight?”
Emily Anne had sat back on her haunches at the first sound of Warren’s voice. When Edward had treated her to the mock leer, she’d laughed.
“I think you purposely stopped by hoping to catch a look at Carol’s bum as she weeded her garden,” Emily Anne said.
Both male grins had “guilty” written all over them.
A trickle of sweat tickled her hairline, and she reached up with her wrist to wipe it away. “No, I think I’ll let—ow!”
“What’s wrong?”
“What happened?”
Carol pulled her wrist away from her forehead and looked down at the bee that seemed to be hanging on to her flesh for dear life. Edward quickly plucked the insect off her, throwing it to the ground. Then he examined the wound to see if the stinger was still there.
“Damn, that’s the first bee sting I’ve had in years. I forgot how much they hurt.” Carol stared at the wound that had already become red and swollen. The stinging seemed to go on and on.
“Carol, come inside. Let’s see to that.” Warren reached for her other hand to help her up from the ground. A wave of dizziness made her nearly stumble.
Love Under Two Responders [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 18